


Make Your Choice

by rampantmuses



Category: Saw
Genre: F/M, Saw AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-15 04:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13023174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rampantmuses/pseuds/rampantmuses
Summary: The Game has been changed and it’s about to begin.When Mark Hoffman and Logan Nelson, two men from vastly different backgrounds, are brought together by tragic events into a fraternal partnership and a discipline of sexual sadism, they find ways to deal with their loss as well as sate their desires. But when their paths intersect with Fidelma Monaghan and Elizabeth Abernathy, their personal and professional lives are thrown a curveball neither expected.Contains sexual content and elements of BDSM. Discretion is therefore advised.This work is in collaboration with Rebecca E. You can find her on tumblr athttp://queensoybean.tumblr.com





	1. Prologue: The Game Begins

Prologue  
   
A soft groan filtered from her lips as she woke. Eyelids fluttering open, she let her eyes focus in the dim room. The last she could remember was being out at a bar and flirting it up a rather handsome guy before heading out with the rest of the group. However, for having more than likely blacked out, she felt pretty good. No hang over, no headache, no nausea.  
Yet something felt off.  
On instinct, she went to reach for her phone and wallet. Cold dread settled into the pit of her stomach. Her wrists were bound. What little she could move didn’t allow her to reach into the pockets of her jeans. Another fearful thought struck as she attempted to look down. Too late she realized that her throat was secured in the same fashion as her wrists. Just attempting to look down was nearly impossible. A slight turn of her head allowed her to see that her wrists, as well as her neck, were bound to a St. Andrews Cross. No doubt her ankles were bound in the same manner; a simple kick of her feet confirmed that thought.  
Electricity crackled overhead, causing her to whimper as a voice spoke calmly, soothingly almost. If she wasn’t mistaken, the voice sounded a little too familiar.  
“I want to play a game. The position we find ourselves in is one with a three-fold purpose. The making of the device is my own, the current position you are bound in is yours. The third part is to guarantee our mutual gratification.”  
“M-m-mutual gratification…. what?” She asked as the lights flicked on overhead. Squinting to shield her eyes until she adjusted to the light, she didn’t hear or see the hidden door slide open. What she did hear next was the sound of footsteps on the concrete floor. As she was about to open her eyes, a blindfold slid into place, keeping her from seeing who held her wherever she was. Fear of the unknown flared through her as a strong, masculine hand masked by a leather glove traced over her cheekbone.  
“The rules are simple, my pet. You, as you have astutely figured out, are strapped to a St. Andrew’s Cross. The structure is one of strength and support, yet one of complete disclosure. Nothing about you is protected. From lash of the whip, the sting of the wand against sensitive flesh you will not be spared. Yet, even with these things, you will the satisfaction and release you crave.”  
“In mere second, the wand that is strapped to your thigh will be engaged at its highest setting. Your task is to delay your orgasm until sixty seconds has elapsed. Once this time has been met and exceeded will you be allowed to come. If you do not complete your task, your punishment will be swift and severe. Make your choice.”  
She whimpered as the Hitachi wand strapped to her left thigh switched on, the head of the implement pressed firmly against her slick folds, directly on her sensitive clitoris.  
“Oh god…” She whispered, knowing that she was going to have to fight with all her strength to keep from coming. Meanwhile, the leather gloved hand that stroked her cheek traveled down her body, lingering at her bare breasts, pinching each pebbled nipple hard enough to inflict just enough pain to marry with the intensity of her arousal. With a shuddering moan, she arched as much as her bonds would allow. His voice, deep and soft, murmured in her ear.  
“You have forty seconds, my pet. Can you last for me?”  
For his first time on his own, he felt truly in control; all the details of the scene, including the test subject were of his selection and design. Of course, they were approved by his mentor and they discussed all measures of safety to ensure success, but for once, he was in control on his own. By god, it felt so damn good.  
Watching through the monitors was one thing; experiencing the thrill of bringing such sadism to an equally willing masochist was gratifying. It was better than any alcohol or drug, any high that could be induced, he had to admit. He turned his head and looked to his partner more than likely stood at the other side of the observation glass along with their instructor, awaiting his own test. While both men were similar in their desire to punish for pleasure, both had their own style when it came to the art of BDSM. Their handlers had made sure that each man had the same set of rules, but allowed a modicum of freedom to work with their subjects as they wished. His partner’s strength came through kinbaku ropework and forced orgasms; his came from mounted structures, straps, and orgasm deprivation.   
Returning his focus to the woman, he watched as his subject strained at the straps, moaning quietly as she fought off her body’s need for release. His lips curved into a smirk as he approached again. This time, he removed his glove, slipped his hand between her legs and pressed two thick fingers into her dripping cunt. The cry she emitted was primal, filled with her frustration and need as he thrust into her, fingertips curling and digging into her g-spot as the wand whirred faster. He rose up and pressed his lips to her ear. He kept his voice at a whisper, knowing it would stave off her cries so his words could be heard.  
“Twenty seconds, pet. Nineteen, Eighteen, Seventeen…” He murmured as his hand continue to push her, driving her to miss the deadline. Her teeth gritted, biting back the scream that tore at her throat just as the time elapsed. She’d done it; she’d made it through her task. Somehow, she’d survived the cruel pressure of the wand amplified by the thrusts of his fingers. Now, she was so wound up, she wasn’t sure she could come.  
“I can’t, I can’t…” She wailed, her teeth bared as she hissed a breath through her teeth. His lips caressed her ear as his fingers thrust harder and harder. Her cries grew sharper as the wand continued its relentless vibration against her tender clitoris.  
“Yes, you can, pet. I need you to breathe. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Give into the pleasure you’ve earned.” He commanded, his voice calm and measured admit the din of her sobs and the whine of the wand. His free hand, still clad in its leather glove, circled her throat and squeezed gently. A shrill gasp left her throat as he provided just enough pressure to remind her to breathe. Slowly but surely, she began to let herself go.  
“That’s it, love. Focus on that pleasure and come for me.” He hissed and smiled as she let herself go, her body spasming at the brutal intensity of his thrusts, clear juices splashing over his fingers and palm as her orgasm rent her apart. He looked down as he removed his fingers, smiling as he saw that the sleeve of his black dress shirt was saturated. With his free hand, he untied her blindfold and turned her face toward his. She sobbed as she considered his eyes and pressed her forehead to his as the wand went silent. He slid the wand from the thigh straps and tossed it to the nearby table.  
“Thank you, oh, thank you, Sir….” She keened between shuddering breaths, watching as he unbuckled the straps from her neck, her wrists, her waist, and her ankles. She tried to grip onto the support beam but to no avail. Thankfully, his arms were there to catch her. He carried her to what she could now see was a chaise lounge and bundled her up into a robe and covered her in blankets. Drawing her into his arms, he kept her close, soothing her as she wept.  
“There now, you’re safe. You’re alright. You performed so well, my dear. I couldn’t be more pleased.” At his tender words, she lifted her tear stained face up, her hand touching his cheek as she laid her lips against his. The kiss was as gentle as his words of praise, unfolding slowly. The secret door opened, allowing his instructor to enter the room.  He lifted his head away from hers, giving him a disgruntled look as the man stood over the pair, a congratulatory smile on his lips.  
“Congratulations, Mark. You’ve almost cleared the final hurdle. Your subject will be waiting for you in a private room and will wait for your arrival to finish what has been started. However, your job is not yet done.”  
Mark Hoffman gave a nod and sigh of relief before the last sentence of his mentor stuck him. What in the world did that mean? He turned towards the assistant who gathered his subject from his arms and carried her from the room. As much as he wanted to object, he knew this was all part of his testing.   
“As your fellow practioner observed your exam, so you will give the same respect and observe his.” Mark gave another nod as the instructor left the room and rose, watching as his counterpart walked into the room, coils of ropes over his shoulder, separator bars in his left hand. He gave Mark a grin and offered a hand. They shook hands and embraced, a true sign of their camaraderie and brotherhood through the kink in which they both were trained.  
“Congratulations, Hoffman. Your work is outstanding.” Logan grinned as he set about rigging up the satin nylon ropes that he would bind his subject with. Hoffman paused for a moment, watching with a twinge of envy. He had no patience with ropes, while Logan had an uncanny knack for creating the most intricate and beautiful rope bindings.  
“No doubt yours will be the same. Good luck, Nelson.” He replied and smiled as he exited the room, the panel door closing behind him. As he passed through the hall toward the control room, he watched as the assistant cradled the newest subject to his chest as he headed toward the testing room. He paused and watched as the door slid open to allow them access before heading up the stairs to the control room. Even though he would much rather be continuing the aftercare as well as sating his needs with his beautiful test subject, he knew that seeing what his brother in arms could do was not only respectful, but good to keep up on his skills. After all, a partnership wasn’t any good if you didn’t know the strengths and weaknesses of your partner. With his lips curving into a smirk, he stepped into the room and took his place at the far-right side, his arms at parade rest behind his back. He gave a side long glance to his mentor and instructor, noting the man’s intense gaze focused as Logan worked to bind his subject and secure her in the pulley system before she woke. Much to the relief of all in the room, he succeeded before stepping out and dimming the lights.  
“Let the game begin.”  
   
 


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Kentis Coffeeshop

9:18 A.M.

 

_Her thighs trembled as she held herself up on her hands and knees. She bit down on her lower lip as Alexander ran a large, rough hand over her ass._

_“Just breathe, darling,” Alexander whispered, the clatter of the anal beads juggling in his hand. She inhaled deeply, a soft whimper escaping as she exhaled. The beads were impressive, measuring at least…_

Elizabeth Abernathy gritted her teeth as she let out a soft groan. The beads were...what? She thought impatiently. Metallic, slightly heavy, maybe a few ounces? How heavy was a few ounces? Could vagina muscles handle holding a certain amount of ounces? She reached over for her latte, taking a long swig of the cinnamon flavored liquid. Thankfully, her local coffee shop wasn’t very crowded for a chilly morning. Usually people lined up out the door for something hot and caffeinated on a day like today. Oh well. More room for her to write to her heart’s content and not worry about any prying eyes. Feeling particularly stuck at this point in her story, Elizabeth looked in the upper right hand corner of her computer.

9:18am. She’d be in the office she shared with her professor at the university, maybe in a meeting. Screw it. She reached for her cell phone and dialed Fidelma’s number.

“Hello?”  
  
“How heavy do you think metallic anal beads weigh?” Elizabeth asked straight out the gate. A soft gasp made Elizabeth look to her left. A young, put together mother with a six month old on her lap looked at her with wide eyes. _Sorry_ , Elizabeth mouthed, visibly cringing.

“Good morning to you, too,” Fidelma answered dryly, “you weren’t home when I left for school. Did you go to the gym?”

“You know it,” Elizabeth chuckled, cradling the phone with her shoulder as she went for her latte, “I showered there and came straight to Kentis Coffeeshop. I’m trying to get at least four chapters written today.” Fidelma reached in her messenger bag for her binder and spiral notebook as Elizabeth continued. “So…how much do you think the pussy can handle?” She whispered softly.

“You’re in public on the phone asking about anal beads?” Fidelma questioned, placing the contents of her bag on her desk.

“I’m stuck at this certain place in my story. You know I want this to be genuine! I don’t wanna go all E.L. James on any readers! They deserve the truth.”

“You truly are the voice of the perverted,” Fidelma quipped dryly, looking up as a professor entered the main office door and walked past her. Did he hear her? Who gave a fuck; this was the Health and Human Performance department; if you were timid about sex, you needed another day job.

“I’ll do a bit more research online,” Elizabeth decided. She pulled her journal from her purse and took the pen that sat next to her computer. Taking the cap from the pen, she quickly scribbled anal bead weight on the list of other topics she needed to delve into.

Fidelma leaned back into her chair and crossed her right leg over her left. “James isn’t half the writer you are, Lizzie. You have a smooth and detailed way of writing prose. It isn’t forced. You capture the scenes in perfect fashion and you connect with the audience by bringing the explicit description as well as the emotional aspect. It always hooks me and reels me in. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Elizabeth smiled as she closed her journal. “Awww, thanks Del! You’re so sweet! Yeah you won’t catch me writing about ripping tampons out of women before fucking them…” A loud clearing of a throat made Elizabeth look back over at the young mother. Her glare could cut butter. “Del, I better go before I get banned from Kentis.” Fidelma laughed, said goodbye to her friend, and hung up.

“Sorry,” Elizabeth muttered to the woman, blushing hard. She turned back to her laptop and reread what she had written thus far.

* * *

 Logan Nelson leaned over and retrieved the black leather jacket that was draped over his bed. He swiftly pushed his arms into the jacket and walked to the dresser, inspecting himself. His denim jeans and tight blue shirt hugged his muscular 6’2 frame. His hair was just finishing drying from the shower. He smoothed a hand over his chiseled, recently shaved face. Satisfied with the way he looked, he grabbed his wallet and keys and called to his 12 year old daughter.

“Did you brush your teeth, Mel?” “Not yet!” she answered. “Do it now, Melissa Nelson!” he said in a warning tone, “Judy will be here soon! I’ll tell her to put you to bed instead of watching the movie.”

“Okay, okay!!” Melissa said quickly. Logan smirked to himself as he heard her run to the bathroom and turn on the faucet. Logan turned back to the mirror, running his fingers through his hair. He reached for the small bottle of hair gel, squirting a dime sized amount in the palm of his hand. Rubbing his hands together, he mussed and tousled his hair a bit more. The doorbell rang as he spritzed cologne on his neck.

“Judy’s here!” Melissa shrieked, running back down the hallway towards the front door. Logan exited his bedroom and met Judy as she walked into the living room. “Thank you again, Judy, for agreeing to stay over tonight to look after Mel,” Logan said, smiling down at the young teenager. “It’s no problem,” Judy commented, putting her arm around Melissa, “I brought Catching Fire to watch before bed!” Melissa gasped, clapping her hands together. “Yes! I can’t wait to watch it!”

Logan smiled down at his daughter before turning to go into the kitchen. Judy and Melissa followed behind as he picked up his cell phone from the counter and removed it from its charger. “Judy, you have my number if you need anything. I’ll be back late. Make yourself at home. I have fresh towels in the guest bathroom if you need to shower.” “Thanks, Mr. Nelson,” Judy smiled, placing her overnight bag on a chair in the living room. “Okay, you two have fun! Mel, you behave for Judy!” “I always do!” Melissa quipped, giving her father an angelic smile.

Logan laughed as his daughter’s precociousness and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “I love you,” he murmured. He walked to the front door, pushing his cell phone in his pocket. Judy followed behind, wishing him a good night. He thanked her again, opening the front door. She closed the door behind him, locking it securely. Logan inhaled the cool night air as he walked to his Jeep Cherokee. He fished his car keys out of his jacket pocket and unlocked the car. He hopped in, started the car, and made his way to the club.

This was the part of his life that Melissa did not need to know. Nobody needed to know about it nor had any right to know about it. It was a hobby, it was stress relief, and it was an outlet from the horrors he saw day to day at the county morgue. Being a medical examiner, he saw up close and personal how people met their demise. Whether it be a horrific car accident or a gory crime of passion, he saw bodies that had been twisted, mangled, and bludgeoned. The average person couldn’t handle five minutes of what he saw at work.

Of course, Logan thought that his occupation was a cake walk compared to his stint in the United States army. He had been a medic and had patched up bleeding and maimed soldiers in the middle of the most dangerous circumstances. And one such circumstance resulted in him being captured by enemy forces and tortured repeatedly for days. Logan clenched his jaw as his knuckles squeezed tighter on the steering wheel. The only thing that got him through the time in captivity was his wife Christine and his new baby Melissa. He had gotten word that Melissa had been born while he was in Afghanistan, before he had been taken. He remembered how tears had threatened his eyes imagining his wife being alone to care for their baby while he was an ocean away. His will to survive had been immense. He would escape, he would go home, and he would be the best provider for his wife and child that he could. Once he got back to the States, he was out of commission for months. He was in the VA hospital, suffering not only physically but mentally. The PTSD was something that nobody could have prepared him for.

The nightmares happened one after the other every single night. The loud sound of a car backfiring or a honking horn would cause him to break down in a panic attack. Therapy and medication helped, but the psychological scars were still fresh. If the trauma he suffered from his tour in Afghanistan wasn’t enough, something even worse occurred eight years later. His beloved wife was killed in cold blood. Logan suddenly found himself grieving for his lost love, dealing with his inner demons, and comforting his broken child. It had been a rough decade, but he had found an outlet for all of the fucked up shit that life had bestowed upon him.

Logan pulled into the dimly lit parking lot of the club. The music inside was so loud that Logan could hear it almost clearly as he exited his car. Pocketing his keys, he walked briskly to the front door. A line of about fifteen women stood outside of the door. It was gonna be a busy evening. He looked to the bouncer and tilted his head up in a nod. The women at the head of the line saw the bouncer acknowledging someone and turned to see who it was. A collective gasp echoed from each woman.

“It’s him!” Logan heard as he walked past the women and towards the front door that was being held open by the bouncer. Logan greeted the man, giving him a friendly slap on the arm as he walked inside.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

  
Concupiscence  
3 a.m.

  
Last call had come and gone, the patrons long since gone their homeward way. Yet the bar was occupied and lively with the employees of Concupiscence enjoying a libation to help wind down before heading for home or to one of the many rooms above the establishment that weren’t used to conduct the chosen sins of the flesh that their patrons craved.    
With an eye on the room at large, Mark Hoffman took a sip of the bar’s private reserve Scotch over ice, the chill of the liquor quickly disappearing as it slid down his throat. Sitting his glass down, he gave a nod to the golden boy of the hour, Logan Nelson, who took a seat next to him and nodded to the bartender, who immediately poured a Scotch and refilled Mark’s empty glass. The two men toasted, glass clinking against glass before finishing the fiery liquid in one swallow.  
“The ladies were all about you this evening. A lesser man would be envious.” Mark grinned, making Logan shake his head and set the glass aside, waving off the bartender who was ready to pour him another. While he would take a room upstairs, Logan, with a pre-teen daughter, still had to drive home.  
“I wish I could say the same thing. I feel like I’m stagnating.” At this comment, Mark felt his brows lift. He’d watched Logan work the main room, even in private sessions he’d attended, Logan was at the top of his game with a solid and commanding presence and constantly sought new ways and information to hone his sadistic craft. There was a reason he was the most requested dominant at Concupiscence.  
“I wish I could say that I agreed with that assessment, Nelson, but it’s simply not true. You’ve got me doing more reading on human sexuality as well as keeping up with any trends to keep the work we do here new and fresh. It may not be you that’s the issue, did you ever stop to consider that?” He pointed out, setting his glass aside and turning to his colleague and friend. Logan’s brow furrowed as he considered Mark’s honest eyes. While both men’s careers relied on observation, he found himself wondering what Mark was getting at. He never was one to blame any patron; after all, they were the reason he had an outlet.  
“For once you’ve lost me, Hoffman.”  
“Do some asking on what half of these women read before they come in here. They aren’t checking out books or informational texts sadism and masochism and human sexuality.  It’s these stupid billionaire dominant trilogies written by some unknowledgeable twit trying to cash in. You’ll see them with an odd place of pride on the grocery store shelves. You know the ones; mousy, insecure girl catches the eye of some handsome bastard with more money than sense who has a secret play room and he’s immediately obsessed to the point I’d be arresting him for violating a restraining order should she have been wise to file for one if this were a real-life situation.”  Mark replied as he took the offered cup of decaf coffee from the bartender. Logan contemplated Mark’s statement, his brows lifting as he considered the ladies he’d sat down with in the last week alone. When asked what their hard limits were versus their soft limits, they would either giggle, ask about getting a contract in writing, or give him a blank look as if their minds had short circuited. When the traffic light color code was used, and he obeyed it, some had asked him why he’d stopped action.  It was beyond perplexing.  
“Now that you mention it, there’s been some odd ones over the past few weeks. I’ve had three this evening alone I had to turn back out to the main floor.”  
“Now you see where I’m coming from. That’s why I haven’t been as active this week. Like we all do, I sit any prospective client down and ask them how familiar they are with what this club does, what we do in terms of scenes, what their limits are, and what reading they’ve done to prepare them for this if any at all. Half of them named two or three book series so often that I wrote down titles and started doing some reading and note taking. It’s bad; laughably bad.” He chuckled, shaking his head as he set aside his half empty cup as Logan leaned back against the bar, a contemplative expression on his face. He had to admit he was glad he’d put the bug in Nelson’s ear. He knew he wasn’t the only practitioner in house that had complained regularly about the ignorance or the faux intelligence of the new wave of clientele that was coming to the open evenings. It was getting to the point Hoffman wanted the management to make it ‘Invitation Only’ again.  
“Well, it’s worth asking the others about to see what their experience has been as well as do the reading, but you’re more than likely onto a trend that we don’t need to see of the patrons here.” Logan replied thoughtfully as he stood up from the bar and fished his keys out of his pocket. Mark gave him a nod as he too felt the call to go to bed.  
“You good to drive, Nelson? There’s always a room here for you here if you need it.”  
“I’ll be fine. I’ll reserve one when I have a scene that runs long enough for me to require one.” At his reply, Mark gave a barking chuckle and clapped his shoulder as he stood up. The two shook hands, giving a hug before they parted ways, exchanging reassurances that they’d take it easy and stay safe.  With a nod to the bartender, he headed toward the stairs. He observed the room at large from his vantage point at the top stair. Of all those on the roster, he and Nelson were considered the anomalies. Most had partners, lovers, or spouses at home. While Nelson had his daughter to return to, he remained solitary.  
While it was true that he’d come a long way, there was so much that could be better. Yet, his line of work seemed to be a mark of Cain. It wasn’t always possible to have a relationship with a woman who understood that being a homicide detective meant long hours and very little appreciation. The only woman who’d understood his drive had been his beloved sister, Angelina. A twinge of pain stabbed at his heart when he thought of her; his vibrant and beautiful sister had been his only family after their parents had passed on. She had been his champion and cheerleader, always there for him.  
Yet, even she couldn’t be kept safe from the world of death that he dealt with. When her ex, Seth Baxter, had murdered her while on his watch, his world had shattered. To say he was devastated by Angelina’s death was an understatement. He was pretty sure that had he not been found by the Mentor and the Asset, he probably would have drunk himself to death.  
Shaking his head, he pushed aside the morose thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him as he stepped into his favored room and shut the door. This wasn’t the time to succumb to the depression he’d been battling so long. With a sigh, he stripped down and headed into the bathroom for a shower. As the warm water poured over him, he began to reflect on his observations over the past weeks. If things didn’t change with the clientele soon, he was unsure as to what he would do.  Not only was this a release for them, it was an outlet for him. The partnership between submissive and dominant was meant to be beneficial to both parties. When the submissive wasn’t party to or willing to be a part of the scene, there was no point on continuing.  
“Here’s hoping change comes soon.” He muttered as he cut the shower and grabbed a towel. Wrapping the soft cotton around his waist, he headed out and shut off the light.  
 

* * *

  
Fidelma Monaghan flopped down into the arm chair nook at Kentis Coffeeshop with a sigh as she set her messenger bag aside in the second arm chair. It had been a hopping day in the Health and Human Development department at Lancaster University. Between running errands for her professor, teaching labs and classes, as well as taking her own courses and fielding questions from students as well as her beloved housemate, Lizzie, her day was constantly in motion. It felt good to take a moment to breathe; and breathe she did, inhaling the aroma of freshly ground coffee and yeasty baked goods. The scent bouquet was enough to have her relaxing back in the chair.  
While fast days meant that the day was quick to end, it wasn’t without drawbacks. Student questions also meant she had to deal with the students who thought hitting on the teaching assistant was a wise idea. “They don’t pay me enough to deal with that shit.” She muttered as she pulled out her phone and shot Lizzie a text and hoped that her friend would be there soon. They had plans to grab dinner before hitting up a movie at the local cinema. She looked up and smiled when her favorite barista brought over her cup and a cranberry and white chocolate scone. Her brow furrowed as she saw the plated scone sat next to her favored wassail.  
“Thank you, but I didn’t order the scone.”  
“I know you didn’t, but the guy two people behind you did. Looks like you have an admirer, Del.” She replied to Fidelma’s confused expression and gave a shrug before bustling away. Picking up her cup, she shook her head and inhaled the spicy apple based drink before taking a sip. The sound of a body flopping down into the arm chair next to hers, accompanied with her messenger bag hitting the floor, made her go still. Slowly, she lowered the cup and turned to the person who’d taking the seat she’d been saving for her friend. The man in question, a blond with green eyes, a man she’d barely noticed when he’d come in, sat on the edge of the chair and was pinning her to the spot with his gaze.  
“Mind explaining the scone and your inability to see that a seat is saved?” She inquired, her guard up as she watched him. If she didn’t know better, he was one of the many idiots who’d thought that hitting on her would end up with them getting a better grade. His lips curved into a smirk as his eyes raked over her, which made her hackles rise.  
“Well, I figured a girl as sweet as you might like a little pick me up.” At his attempt at a pick-up line, she rolled her eyes and took the plate and handed it to him, earning a look of confusion as he took the plate.  
“I think that line needs a little yeast of its own. It’s falling flat,” She replied tartly as she collected her bag . As she stood, he reached up to grab her wrist. She drew her hand back and slung her messenger bag across her body and picked up her mug. “ As flattering as your attempt to pick me up isn’t, I’m not interested in whatever it is you have to offer. I’m meeting a friend and we have plans. Have a nice day.”  
As she walked away from the chair nook, she could hear plate shattering on tile. A tinge of fear clenched her stomach. This was the reaction all women dreaded when it came to refuse the advances of a guy. No matter how polite you were, they still weren’t happy about it. Preparing to toss her drink in his face, she turned and found that she didn’t need to. A dark-haired man clapped a hand on his shoulder and twisted the blond man’s arm and wrist behind his back. While the blond may have outweighed and towered over him, the other man had the advantage of strength, surprise, and a clear discipline in self-defense.  
“You heard what she told you, ace. Get a clue that she’s not interested and move on.” The older man commanded, releasing his grip on the blond who leapt away like a scalded dog before running out of the shoppe.  Fidelma felt relief wash through as she sank down into a chair at a nearby vacant table, her body trembling with rage. How dare that man child do this to her, or to anyone for that matter! She took in a shuddering breath and gripped her mug, the contents thankfully still the warming the china.  
“You okay, sweetheart?” At the sound of his voice, she turned to find the dark-haired man crouched down in front of her, his eyes a shade of steely blue focused as he considered her. She gave a watery laugh and shook her head.  
“Other than feeling extremely pissed off and tad bit helpless, I’m alright.” She blurted, doing her best to blink back the tears. Even though she knew this reaction was normal, she hated it and the weakness that accompanied it.  He nodded and grabbed the other vacant chair and pulled it to sit in front of her. He took the mug from her and set it aside before taking her hands in his, giving each a gentle squeeze. Her fingertips brushed against his palms, feeling the work worn roughness of his palms in contrast with her own softer skin. Desire sliced through the fear and anger that had been so overwhelming moments ago, taking her by surprise. His gaze met hers and held as their fingers linked.  
“It’s fine to feel that. Do you have someone you can contact? A boyfriend, a brother…”

“No on the boyfriend and my family is a continent away. I do have a friend coming though. I got a hold of her before that unfortunate mess happened.” She admitted, looking up as the door jingled open and Elizabeth rushed in. He followed her gaze and gave a nod as his hands released hers. Fidelma felt bereft without his touch. In a cheesy romance novel sense that she’d never bothered to entertain, she felt that she’d been longing for that connection all her life, and found it in the touch of his hand. He rose from the chair and slid a hand into the pocket of his black wool coat, a cream-colored envelope and a card in his hand. He laid them on the table with a ghost of a smile on his lips.  
“If you need anything at all, Miss, you have my card. Stay safe.” He murmured and walked toward the door, giving a nod to Elizabeth as he left. Fidelma watched as he walked down the street. Once he was out of their sight, Elizabeth swooped down and grabbed the chair.  
“Oh my god, Del! What happened, are you hurt?! Tell me everything! Who is that guy? Why was he holding your hands? It looked hella romantic!” Elizabeth enthused, nearly bouncing on the edge of her chair. Fidelma couldn’t keep from laughing as she lifted the business card and read the fine script before handing the card to Elizabeth to read. She opened the envelope and found the creamy card stock bore one word: Concupiscence. Flipping the card over, she read the following text.  
_Introduction to BDSM_  
_This Friday at 10:00 p.m._  
_Show this card to the doorman, you’ll be granted instant access. You may bring an additional guest._  
_M._  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please give any feedback in the comments.
> 
> Also, the chapters are out of order. With AO3’s numbering system, prologues are considered chapters.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank You for reading! Please be kind and leave any feedback!


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